


Hope is the thing with feathers

by nosh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Athletes, Beta Scott McCall, Bottom Aiden (Teen Wolf), Bottom Brett Talbot, Bottom Ethan (Teen Wolf), Bottom Isaac Lahey, Bottom Jackson Whittemore, Bottom Liam Dunbar, Bottom Scott McCall, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Cock Cage, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub, Hands-free Orgasm, Jock Straps, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Pack Dad Derek Hale, Pack Dynamics, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Top Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosh/pseuds/nosh
Summary: Faced with a pack of newly-bitten teenage werewolves, with no alpha, Derek supposed it was up to him to teach them, lest one of them cause an incident and get them all found out.(Or, half of the Beacon Hills University men's lacrosse team become disaster werewolves unable to function, and Derek has to deal with their bullshit.)





	1. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're gonna have to wait a while for the good shit to start. I am weirdly committed to having a believable plot. It's a sickness. Also, chapters will be short because I'm stretched thin with a million other projects.

If you want to know what it's like to be a werewolf, just think: you, but more. Faster and stronger, sure, but your needs intensified too; an insatiable appetite for food, sex, water. Born werewolves knew their bodies, what they needed, and how to get it in the right way. Bitten werewolves did not--they needed to be taught. And, faced with a pack of newly bitten teenage werewolves, with no alpha, Derek supposed it was up to him to teach them, lest one of them cause an incident and get them all found out.

You see, some _asshole_ has been going around Beacon Hills biting students who went to the nearby college. There must be at least a half-dozen of them, just in the past few days. Why anyone would ever want to do that was beyond Derek, but it didn't change want he needed to do.

Already, there were rumors about strange things happening, and it was still three weeks until the full moon. Whispers about boys with red eyes, the lacrosse team suddenly going from not a single win to undefeated, the university dining halls unexpectedly running out of food every meal.

The first order of business was to figure out who the new wolves were. Time to lurk around the campus, creeping on undergrads. What fun. 


	2. Nucleus

It took several hours of searching (and sniffing) around the campus before he found a good suspect, on the lacrosse field. Practice looked to be just ending.

The guy was walking off the field, a wet mop of hair on his head, just covering his ears, about five foot eight. It was hard for Derek to tell from across the field, even with his werewolf vision, but when he squinted he was able to make out the name on the back of the uniform, "MCCALL." McCall walked with the typical swagger of an athlete, chatting casually with teammates, toward the nearby athletics facility where, Derek guessed, their locker rooms were. 

Derek in werewolf-sight of the building until the players started to emerge again. The boy walked out, hair dry, again surrounded by teammates, laughing and teasing. Even though it was barely summer, he was wearing a revealing tank top--eager to show off his body, Derek supposed. And with good reason. He shook off the thought, no time for that now.

As moved closer to confirm his suspicions, he noticed that there were  _several_ wolves nearby. Handy, because at least most (if not all) of them were in the same place; difficult, because there was no way for Derek to find out where they all lived. As the lacrosse team broke apart to head home, or to class, or the library, Derek had to make a fast call. He still couldn't figure out a way to talk to any of them without it seeming weird, and risking them running off too soon, so he decided he'd follow the largest group, with McCall and two others. 

The three boys headed into one of the dorms--Forbes--and Derek posted up at a cafe nearby. He'd already invested several hours in this anyway, and he needed to get some work done. Several coffees and an unsatisfying pre-made burrito later, Derek noticed the boys leaving their dorm and heading off campus. He quickly packed up his books and followed. They were probably headed to a bar--it was a Friday night, after all--a place where you could approach strangers in a mostly not-weird way.

Sure enough, it was not two blocks before they stepped into one of the local dive bars, known for cheap beer and finding a hook-up. Derek waited outside for a few minutes, then followed them in. He went up to the opposite end of the bar from the boys, and ordered the largest serving of draft beer available. While Derek drank and chatted with the bartender, he glimpsed the boys, especially McCall, peering at him. Was it flirting or because they had noticed him following him?

There was only one way to find out.


	3. You Can Call Me Prince Charming

Derek strolled up to the lacrosse boys who had been staring at him the past ten minutes.

"Can I help you all?"

They all gaped. Eventually, one of McCall's buddies got himself together enough to say, with see-through false confidence, "Yeah, our buddy here," he slapped McCall on the shoulder, "thinks you're cute." McCall gave Derek a sheepish grin. "Yeah," he admitted.

"What's your name?"

"Scott. Uh, McCall." The athlete blushed deeply. McCall- _Scott_ \--wasn't the first athlete he'd flirted with. (Understatement of the century.) He loved taking them off-guard. They always swaggered around campus, but without fail, some light sexual aggression always caught them off-guard. And Scott couldn't have his defenses up if Derek was going to get Scott to trust him enough to be in his pack. And, Derek thought, looking the boy up and down, if it meant he got off, too, all the better.

"Well, Scott, I'm Derek, but you can call me Prince Charming. And I'm buying you a drink." Great line. He came up with it back in college, and--to quote a movie he liked at he time--60 percent of the time it worked every time. Hopefully, this wasn't part of the 40 percent of the time, because failure here meant his life would be a whole lot harder.

Scott clearly tried to play it cool but Derek saw the guy's eyes fly open. "Yes, please." One of Scott's friends not-so-subtly elbowed him ( _amateurs_ ), and McCall amended, saying, "I mean, uh, sure."

Derek never bothered asking Scott what he was drinking. With these athletes, he never did. "Two bourbons, on the rocks please," he called out to the bartender. Within moments, they had their drinks. 

It didn't take long for Scott's friends to (again, with  _zero_ subtlety) leave the two on their own. To Derek's great surprise, the conversation flowed easily. Not because McCall was any great thinker. To the contrary, the guy was not especially bright at all. But he was friendly, clearly kind, thoughtful, inquisitive. Normally, these jocks were useless when it came to talking, just utter troglodytes. His strategy was generally to get them back to his apartment as quickly as possible so he could fuck the daylights out of them but--well, he was getting off track here. Werewolves. He needed to get him alone to talk about  _being a werewolf_.

Soon, Derek found himself pressing the lacrosse player up against his loft door as they kissed intensely, aggressively. How he got there, who initiated it, Derek couldn't tell you. Out of the window went his grand plans to recruit the kid to his pack, his rehearsed speech, his, oh who cares. 

* * *

Normally, Scott didn't like it when guys took the lead, in fact, didn't let guys take the lead,  _in fact_ didn't usually like guys at all. But there was something about this dark-haired, dark-eyed, brawny-man-without-the-wholesomeness, that made Scott not only let the man take the lead, but made Scott  _want_ him to take the lead. There was a certain, [vague hand gestures], (as his best friend, Stiles, would later put it, "je ne sais quoi") about the guy, Derek, that led Scott to be amenable to the man's advances. But when Derek looked into his eyes and told Scott he was ordering him a drink, them going home together was as good as done.

There were a lot of firsts for Scott that night. The first time he went to another guy's place, instead of his own; the first time he found himself bent over a couch getting his ass eaten out; the first time he bottomed (unless you count that time his high school girlfriend pegged him); the first time he didn't use a condom (Stiles would later give him a lecture about this); the first time the only lube he used was spit (this one too--"LOTS OF LUBE," Stiles would repeat over, and over); the first time he came without him or someone else touching his dick; the first time he called someone "daddy" while he came. Did it hurt? Hell yeah. But that didn't stop him, or make him want Derek to stop. In fact, it was the mixture of the pain and the pleasure (plus the ever-so-slight contact of his cock with the sheets as the muscular, hairy man fucked him doggy-style, with Scott's hands pinned behind his back, plus about thirty minutes of skilled prostate stimulation at the "hands" of the man's dick) that prompted what Scott would later discover was an anal orgasm, and subsequently his hands-free orgasm.

It was a bizarre, head-spinning, breathtaking experience. And Scott was addicted. Now, he supposed, he knew what those guys loved about bottoming.

* * * 

As Derek drunkenly drifted off to sleep, his cock still inside of the jock he had just fucked, he promised himself that he would have the werewolf conversation in the morning. That conversation was put on hold yet again even before Derek woke up: apparently, Scott had decided to wake Derek up with a blow job. Scott was clearly not very experienced, but his dedication to the task was hot as hell. Derek let Scott keep going for several minutes until he became too impatient. He flipped McCall over, spread the boy's legs wide and pulled his hands behind his back, spat on his hole, and slipped inside him again. It was easier this time, with Derek's cum still inside, serving as additional lube.

Derek pulled nearly all of the way, then trust all of the way back in, back out, then back in again. Each time, he hit Scott's prostate, each time, Scott released a loud moan. Within a few minutes, Scott was whimpering, babbling incoherently, begging for Derek's dick, "please daddy, cum in me," he shouted, "cum in me daddy." Derek wasn't even close, though. He kept pounding away, wrecking Scott, as the top-turned-bottom, mostly-straight-turned-cock-slut, became ever-more submissive, edged ever-closer to another hands-free orgasm. McCall's hole, far looser now than it ever was before, contracted tighter and tighter around Derek's dick as he climaxed. Derek followed soon after, flooding Scott's ass with cum for the second time in the kid's life.

Okay. Now,  _now_ , he would definitely have that talk.

 


	4. Revelations

After the morning sex, Derek was ready to talk. The problem was, Scott wasn't. It took another three(?) rounds of Scott getting Derek to cum inside him--another fuck in the bed, then a blowjob in the shower, then against the wall in the hallway on the way back from the bathroom--before Derek was able to get the guy to sit still. When Derek sat down on a chair in his bedroom, Scott began to kneel between his legs, trying to have yet another go at Derek's cock. Another time, that would be great, but Derek's balls were sore as hell, and he had more important matters to discuss. Before Scott made any progress, Derek reached straight forward and placed his hand on the boy's chest. Scott stopped. Then, Derek lightly pushed Scott back, back, back, until Scott was against the wall. 

"So, this has been fun. We can even pick it up another time. But there's something we need to talk about."

Scott gulped audibly.

* * * 

Scott was sitting on Derek's couch--now wearing underwear--with his head in his hands.

"Okay, let me get this straight. I'm a werewolf?" 

"Yes."

"And I do the whole, 'lose control of myself on the full moon and transform thing.'"

"Mostly yes. With practice you can control it. But that's a ways away."

"And that's why I can hear everything, and got so much stronger, and faster, and hungrier, and--"

"Yes, all of those things yes."

"Huh."

Derek was surprised the kid was taking it so well. The handful of times he's seen a bitten wolf get he news for the first time, they had freaked out. Okay, Scott was definitely freaking out. But they  _really_ freaked out. We're talking running away screaming into the night. And, you know, then  _that's_ a whole thing, what with the chasing them down, and tying them to a chair A Clockwork Orange-style, and making them listen to the whole spiel. It could, and often did, get messy, going through all five Kubler-Ross stages in the span of a couple hours or less. This, well it was less messy. Still a little messy ('cos of the cum, get it?), and potentially messy down the road (who knows what McCall will do once he leaves?). Anyone with eyes could see the gears turning, a little slowly, but turning nonetheless, in Scott's mind. He'll process it all eventually. It takes time. But by all indicators, Scott was just fine. 

After a brief reprieve from the onslaught of world-changing news, Derek started up again. "There are other new wolves too."

"Oh, shit.  _That's_ what I've been smelling. The other dudes on the team?"

Scott, shockingly coherent, proceeded to tell Derek about the recent changes in the team the past week. About a half-dozen of them were more aggressive than usual, eating a helluva lot more than usual, and spending way more time together than they ever did before. They got on each other's nerves, as you do when you spend twelve hours a day, every day, with someone. But they smelled--the only way to describe it was... familiar? Like they had a little glimpse inside of each other. And Scott and his roommates, Isaac, and Brett, were jerking off a  _loooot_. Stiles, a guy with a weird name and apparently another one of McCall's roommates, not so much. Scott wasn't spying, but he could hear them. At least now he knew he wasn't going crazy and/or that the apartment walls hadn't suddenly become paper thin. At the same time, they were butting heads, everyone arguing over stupid shit like who was stronger (inspiring a bunch of arm-wrestling) and who was the MVP in their scrim. It was a dizzying, annoying, great change. Now, at least Scott knew what was going on.

Derek butted in--by now McCall had started rambling--so tell him that he'd need to talk with the other wolves. He explained what a pack was, and that the bitten team members were a pack, hence the smelling familiar. But there was friction because the team didn't have an alpha. Normally, the alpha is whomever gave you the bite; not here. When an alpha walks away from the pack, that bond breaks, and tends to create a struggle within the pack for dominance. Things started to click into place for Scott, but he didn't feel prepared to lead a pack, and he was certain that none of his teammates did either. It was also hard for him to submit to them, something he'd later learn was his inner wolf's instinctive resistance to letting another beta take charge. He paused, pursed his lips, and thought it through. He needed someone smart, strong, knowledgeable about werewolf stuff, and preferably not a teammate. Finally:

"What about you? Could you be our alpha?"

"If it'll keep you all in line, sure. Either way, I need to talk to the rest of the were-team."

Scott nodded. "I'll round them up for a meeting this weekend."

* * *

Derek knew he was in for it before his sister called for their weekly catch-up. He loved her, but she could be  _such_ a nag. Not calling wasn't an option; she was a worrier, constantly mothering him, and if she thought for a second that something was amiss she'd come right over. He dialed her number and braced himself for the oncoming lecture. They talked about how things were going for Laura--a lawyer now, busy as always (but never too busy to meddle in Derek's life, romantic and otherwise). A big case was coming up, and she was working weekends now. Then things turned to what was going on in his life. Grad school was going fine, the classes he was TA-ing were going fine, he was making good progress on his dissertation. Oh, and also, he found one of the wolves he'd been smelling around campus. Never before has the Spanish Inquisition been so expected.

"Did you fuck him?"

"Why would you assume I did?"

Oh don't play with me little bro. _Did. You. Fuck. Him?_ "

"Uh, yes."

"Ugh." Derek could practically hear Laura rubbing her temples in frustration.

"Look, I had t--"

"Derek, what is the  _one_ thing Dr. Deaton told us that you don't do when you're putting together a pack?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Don't fuck your recruits."

"And what did you do?"

"I fucked a recruit, BUT everything is fine. It worked. He's in. We're not dating or anything."

A sigh. "Derek, those aren't the only reasons why you don't fuck them. If you're trying to form a pack without biting them, it needs to be based on emotional attachment and mutual affection. Sex just makes things, I dunno,  _complicated_."

"I know b--"

"If you're fucking them, if they're fucking each other, if they're both trying to fuck the same person, it risks jealousy, someone catching feelings, someone getting hurt."

"Okay, okay, fine, I get it, I get it.  _But_ it's too late for that now so I'll just have to figure out what to do moving forward."

"Well..."

"I can do it on my own, Laura!"

" _Can_ you, though?"

Derek rolled his eyes and changed the subject. 


	5. Prying

When Scott returned to the McCall-Stilinski-Lahey HQ, his roommates greeted him with cheers and fist bumps. Stiles never had a whole lot of luck getting laid--his stupid mouth was always getting him in trouble--so he was happy at least one of them had gotten it in. Isaac was thrilled because he was intimately familiar with how cranky Scott got when he went more than a few days without sex. And, obviously, they're happy for their friend for having something good happen. " _Soooooooo_ ," Stiles began in a sing-song voice, "how  _waaaaaas_ it?"

Stiles was like this every time he caught Scott coming back from a hook-up or a date. He was naturally nosy, the product of life as a sheriff's son (in a town with a shockingly high number of maulings per capita).  And he cared aggressively. Because, well, Stiles. When Scott first started dating back in high school (he did not discover the "hook-up" until college), he felt embarrassed and shy talking about the details. Scott was naturally bashful; combining that with the awkward topic of sex, and then talking about that with his best friend, meant a lot of blushing and even more reluctance before he, after years of Stiles continuing to insist on knowing, caved and started sharing. Stiles now knew pretty much everything there was to know about Scott's love and sex life--what his type was, what he'd done, what he wanted to do, what he tried but hated. 

Stiles knew that Scott was _mostly_ straight, but he had seen Scott bring home a couple of guys. They were mostly shorter and less muscular than Scott--"twinks," if you want to be a bit rude about it. So when Scott went home with that dude who probably inspired creation of the Brawny Man, Stiles raised an eyebrow. That dude was super hot, true, but also super not Scott's usual type. As a result, Stiles was all of the more insistent on knowing what happened. After extensive prying, Stiles finally got it out of Scott. He was dumbfounded. Not only did Scott go home with a sexy lumberjack, he bottomed, and he  _liked_ it,  _and_ he wanted to see the guy again. Scott almost never bottomed, had hated it the few times he did, and had almost never seen a hook-up a second time. 

* * * 

Scott couldn't figure out what had gotten into him. It had only been a couple hours since he'd left Derek's place and he  _misses_ him. Derek smelled like home; not like his apartment, not like the house he'd grown up in. Just home. He'd never had feelings for a guy before, and after a hook-up he had always been eager for the person to leave. He was wary of letting himself catch feelings, especially after his series of heart-breaks his senior year of college. Maybe he was just thinking about Derek because he was talking to Stiles about the sex-marathon and, y'know, how good the dick was. Scott picked up and put down his phone several times, opening up and closing his text conversation with Derek. He wanted to message Derek but didn't know what to say. He also felt needy, which was a novel feeling and uncomfortable for him. Instead, Scott pulled Stiles away from doing the reading for their history seminar to play Call of Duty together. 

The two boys were on the verge of winning their first match of the day--they'd been on a losing streak for a good hour--when Isaac threw open the front door and slammed it shut. Scott and Stiles swung their heads around and managed to get a glimpse at Isaac before he disappeared into his room. He had several visible scratches on him, and a very pronounced black eye. His hair was a mess. His shirt and jeans were ripped in several places. By the time they processed what they had seen, they lost their Call of Duty match soundly. Scott and Stiles looked at each other meaningfully. When you're friends with someone your whole life, you don't always need to say anything to talk to them. They dropped their controllers and barged into Isaac's room. Some guys their age might have been a bit more insistent on personal boundaries or bashful about nudity, but after the amount of time they'd spent together playing lacrosse and in locker rooms--four years in high school, summer practices, and now in college--that had faded pretty quickly.

They found Isaac laying face down in his bed, the lights off, and a pillow covering his head. Scott could smell Jackson and the twins on him, even from the doorway. "Dude, what happened? Are you okay? Did something happen? Do Scott and I need to go beat someone up--?" When presented with a crisis, even a small one, Stiles had a bad habit of rambling a bit. "It's fine." Isaac mumbled from under the pillow. "I got into a fight with some guys on the team."

"Jackson?" Scott ventured. Isaac was never a talker, but Scott was worried and figured if there was ever an occasion to press his luck on getting Isaac to share, now was it. He didn't want to make Isaac talk about anything he didn't want to, though.

"Yeah. And the twins." 

Stiles had been standing next to Scott kind of dumbfounded. Jackson was a jerk, yeah, and things on the team got tense sometimes, but he'd never seen any of them get physical with one another. "Whaaaaat? What happened?"

Isaac turned on his side so that he could see Scott and Stiles from under his pillow. "It's stupid." He paused and sighed. "A bunch of us were tossing the ball around and Jackson--I made fun of his hair and he stopped trying to pass the ball to me and just kept trying to hit me. It pissed me off so much but he wouldn't stop so I tried to make him. And then the twins tried to break us up and I just... instinctively hit one of them. And it went downhill from there."

"Oh shit." Scott and Stiles let out at the same time. Scott, more reflexively than consciously, quickly walked the few paces over to Isaac's bed and laid down on top of him. "Dude, what the He--" Isaac started, but soon changed his protest into a small, contented noise. This was a new one to Stiles, but maybe Scott and Isaac were fucking now or something? Or--well, whatever, he'd grill Scott about it later; he had history reading to get back to anyway. 


	6. Oops

Scott woke up with a start with Isaac still underneath him, now soundly asleep, around 9PM that night. He quietly crawled off of Isaac and went back to the couch in the living room, careful not to wake him. Scott a little bit regretted not doing his homework earlier, but he felt good about having been able to comfort his teammate. Scott plopped back down on the couch. As he reached for his phone, his thoughts wandered back to Derek.  _Maybe he texted me while I was asleep._ Derek hadn't. Scott swallowed his pride and texted the guy. 

 _hey,_ Scott typed out; he stopped briefly before hitting the 'send' button. He was going to close the window--really, he was, and he was definitely not going to stare at the screen until he got a text back--when the three grey dots popped up. And then:

 _Hi._ Scott was taken off-guard by what was happening. He felt almost... giddy? But how he felt about Derek was weird--well, these days it was weird for Scott to feel any kind of way about anyone he slept with, but this time especially so. He didn't have feelings for Derek like he'd had feelings for Allison in the beginning. It was, well, if asked, Scott would only be able to gesture vaguely before trailing off.

 _How was ur day?_  

_Good. Had a ton of errands to run today but glad I got em out of the way. You?_

_it was weird. had some teammate/roommate drama this afternoon_

_Oh?_

_yeah. one of my roommies got into a fight w some other teammates._

_Oh, well that's not great._

_yeah_

* * * 

Derek wasn't surprised when a text notification with Scott's name on it popped up on his phone. The beta--which he'd quickly identified Scott as--had filled up his entire apartment with the smell of attraction and desire and, well, something else he couldn't put his finger on. Plus he could tell that this kid was one of those guy who was "mostly straight" or a "total top" but secretly a sub waiting to happen. He didn't need his nose to tell him that: Scott had the tightest ass he'd felt in some time, kept choking on Derek's cock when he sucked it (but kept going anyway like a champ), and could not get enough of being fucked after his first time. Even if it was expected, it was nice to have confirmation he was right. Plus, it was good sex, which he wouldn't mind having more of.

But when Scott mentioned the fight between his teammates, Derek remembered Laura's admonitions not to fuck the new werewolves. Without even quite realizing it, he switched into "business" mode, as Cora called it. Derek prodded Scott about how his teammate (also, apparently roommate?) Isaac (?) reacted when he got home. Subtly, of course. Eventually Scott divulged that he had cuddled--"napped on top of," as Scott claimed--Isaac. It was cute how insistent Scott was that he was only trying to comfort a friend. I mean,  _yes_ , Derek had grown a bit fond of the kid, and  _yes_ , that was sort of out of character for him when it came to hook-ups,  _but!_ it wasn't really much of anything. He wanted Scott to be okay; and he wanted Scott to suck his dick. 

In any event, Derek had put together a full page of barely-legible notes for himself. He was going to sent Dr. Deaton an e-mail later asking for some guidance. The "don't fuck your potential packmates" ship had already sailed, so now he needed new ideas. Originally he had thought Laura was being silly, but even mediated through Scott's texts Derek could tell that he had to worry about more than just what the new wolves might do to others. And who knows what this might start. He saw how Scott's teammates had looked at him at the bar. Then it was flattering; now he wondered whether he had the face that would launch a thousand claws. 


	7. Pack questions

To: Dr. Alan Deaton <adeaton@bhac.org>

From: Derek Hale <haled@bhu.edu>

Subject: Pack questions

 

Dr. Deaton,

I'm e-mailing at the suggestion of my sister. I apologize for not visiting or keeping in touch as much as I would have liked to--my graduate work at Beacon Hills University has been keeping me busy. There has also been a new matter that has come up. I recently happened upon a group of newly-bitten wolves and have been trying to ensure that they don't get let loose on the entire campus. I have been able to talk with one of them about it so far. It went fairly well. But things have gotten complicated.

Given the sensitive nature of these things, I would appreciate if we could set up a meeting or call to discuss. Let me know when you're available. I teach on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 2:30PM until 4PM, and on Mondays and Wednesdays from 10AM until noon, but am otherwise free.

 

Regards,

Derek Hale

* * *

To: Derek Hale <haled@bhu.edu>

From: Dr. Alan Deaton <adeaton@bhac.org>

Subject: re: Pack questions

 

Derek,

It is good to hear from you, and I am glad that you're so engrossed in your studies. I have no doubt you're an excellent instructor. Why don't you give me a call at my office this evening around 4:00PM? We can discuss your concerns.

 

Best,

Alan

* * * 

Derek spent the next couple of hours reading and preparing for one of his courses. He noticed a few text messages from Scott come in but decided to ignore them for now. He wanted to talk to Deaton about what to do before responding.

At around 3:00PM it became difficult to concentrate but he tried to make himself keep working anyway.

At around 3:30, Derek gave up on work. His attention was split between the great sex he had with that jock and the potential disaster that could come if he didn't get his dick under control. He was particularly concerned about the fighting Scott had told him about. Derek recognized the signs of pack failure; packs needed an alpha, or the wolves would turn on each other. Even slight provocation could result in a serious physical confrontation. He wasn't certain, but he suspected that would be all of the more the case with a pack made entirely of athletes. There was no point in dwelling on it at the moment though. He knew what he was going to say to Deaton during their call. To distract himself, Derek put down his book and finally checked his texts. There were five, all from Scott:

1:08PM: _hey_

1:19PM:  _wyd_

2:12PM:  _do u wanna hang tonite_

2:36PM:  _i can even just come over and u can fuck me and i can leave_

2:38PM:  _or i could stay if u want_

2:39PM:  _anyway lmk_

 

Scott had taken Derek a bit by surprise. It wasn't that he'd managed to turn an ostensibly "alpha male" confident jock into a submissive fuck toy begging for cock. He'd done that plenty of times, in high school, in college, and in graduate school. This year, on BHU's teams alone, he'd topped a couple soccer players, a rower, and several swimmers. What actually surprised Derek was how clingy Scott was. Well, "clingy" has a bit of a negative connotation. Maybe  _eager_ is more accurate. With most of jocks he bagged, neither he nor they were interested in anything beyond one, or two, or three hook-ups. He was not interested in pretending to have interests in common beyond mutual attraction, and was actively trying to avoid any distractions from writing his dissertation; they were generally too busy or too closeted or too compromised by toxic masculinity or too emotionally unavailable (or some combination thereof). Yet Scott, who by all outward indicators was just another run-of-the-mill (hot) jock, had been persistent in seeking him out and spending time with him; and Derek, to his great surprise, didn't mind. 

After some more reminiscing--mostly about the other exception to the rule, the rower: a fuck-buddy he'd had who had loved calling Derek "master" and had insisted on being referred to as Derek's "bitch"--Derek realized that it was nearly 4PM. Before he could get lost in his thoughts again, he pulled up Deaton's office number and called it.

"Alan Deaton speaking."

"Doctor, it's Derek." 

"Derek! Great to hear from you. What's going on with the new pack?"

"I don't think they knew what they were. I was trying to get close with them so I could talk with them about being wolves."

"You know, you could have called me. Or your parents," Deaton admonished.

Derek continued, unphased: "--and in the course of that, ah, one thing led to another. And I, uh. Slept with one."

Deaton audibly sighed. "Oh no."

"It can't be _that_ bad."

"Well--"

Derek didn't say anything so much as let out a guttural  _ugh_ of exasperation (mostly at himself). "So what do I do?"

"I need to know more about the situation. How many of them are there? What are their relationships like with one another? How do they know each other?"

Derek, very awkwardly, and kicking himself for getting involved in any of this in the first place, told Deaton about the bizarre situation of a lacrosse team of newly-minted, 18- and 19-year old werewolves, who had no idea what they were or what they were doing. (To Deaton, in the scheme of odd things he had witnessed or heard about or read about, this was only mildly odd.)

When Derek finished his monologue--interrupted only here and there by a question or request for further exposition--Deaton gave a thoughtful hum. This, Derek recalled from his youth, was not Deaton's rare "I have no idea what to say so I'm buying myself some time to figure it out" or "I am baffled by your incompetence and can't fix this for you" hums; it was, to Derek's great relief, Deaton's "please hold while I retrieve some obscure information I remember remembering, you idiot, you absolute moron." And then, as always followed that particular hum, Deaton's, "ah, yes. One moment," followed next by, again per the norm, the sound of shuffling around, ruffling of paper, and turning of pages. "Yes, here we go." Derek knew he was in for quite the lecture, which was bound to be, in equal parts, informative and chastising. 

After about 45 minutes, Deaton exhausted the information immediately available to him, though he promised to follow up with a more comprehensive e-mail. After some small talk, he bid Derek a good night. In essence--for, surely, there is no need to reproduce the entirety of the speech--Deaton had informed Derek that at the heart of creating a new pack with people unrelated to the alpha was social bonding. It was helpful that the new wolves were teammates, as that meant they already had bonded to some degree. However, it was crucial that the alpha bond with all of them, too.

The information was a lot to take in, especially the implications. The mere thought of trying to insert himself into Scott's team-slash-friend-group  _without_ doing so as Scott's boyfriend was exhausting. Derek wanted to take a long nap. He couldn't, though. He had to finish planning his lesson for tomorrow. And respond to Scott's texts. It had been, what, four or five hours since the boy had first texted? Anyway, that was going to be a whole thing.

 


	8. Netflix and chill

Derek cracks a thin smile as he re-read Scott's texts. The guy (1) clearly didn't have a lot of game, (2) got by mostly on his good looks (at least in the sex and dating department); and (3) was  _not_ used to rejection or how to deal with it. It was charming, in a way. Even if Derek ghosting Scott  _wouldn't_ get a bunch of people killed and out werewolves to the world at large (probably), he wouldn't be able to help himself but to text back:

Derek (5:00PM): _Hey, I've been working all day._

Right away, the three typing bubbles popped up.  _Heh_.

Scott (5:00PM):  _did u get alot done?_

Derek (5:01PM):  _Not as much as I'd like to but a good amount. Still have a few more things to finish up._

Scott (5:02PM):  _r u goin out tonite_

Derek (5:02PM):  _Nah, I've had a long day. Are you?_

Scott (5:03PM):  _the guys want to but idk_

Derek (5:04PM):  _I'll be done w my work in an hr. Gonna pop on a movie and open some wine._

Scott (5:04PM):  _nice nice sounds fun_

It was cute how obvious Scott was in angling for an invitation over. So cute that Derek figured he'd give it to him. He decided to make Scott squirm for a minute first. Notwithstanding his inexplicable affection for the kid, he  _did_ enjoy the power Scott gave him. He felt a little bad about it. But not that bad.

Derek (5:09PM):  _Want to keep me company?_

Scott (5:04PM):  _yesss c u then_

Scott (5:04PM):  _what should i bring_

Scott (5:04PM):  _also whats ur addy again i forget_

Scott showed up early--six o'clock on the dot. Derek had just--well, he hadn't _finished_   his work, but he _had_ given up on it for the evening. He opened the door, revealing a beaming Scott very awkwardly holding a bottle of three dollar wine, a large bag of popcorn, and several smaller bags of candy. Derek raised an eyebrow. "I said you didn't have to bring anything." As he was wont to do, he wore his Neutral But Slightly Disapproving Expression (tm); this time, though, he was secretly tickled.

"Yeah, I know, but I wanted to." Scott flashed a somehow even larger and more enthusiastic smile.

Derek let out a chuckle. "Alright. C'mon in." He nodded toward his couch. Scott took no time to make himself at home. He dropped his backpack at the side of the couch, shed his hoodie to reveal just a very tight, white undershirt (which Derek _extremely_ noticed), and flopped backwards onto the couch. He had somehow accomplished all that while keeping hold of the snacks, a feat that could be explained only by years of practice. Scott tore open the popcorn bag and shoved some into his mouth. "fffhat are we whatchfing?" he said, turning toward Derek who was still at the door. It had, after all, been only a few seconds. 

Derek had been planning on watching  _Call Me By Your Name_ which, when he later thought about it, he would realize was perhaps a bit too on the nose. Scott countered with, and, dear reader, I shit you not,  _Transformers._ Not even the somewhat-passable first one released 2007. It was  _Transformers: Age of Extinction_ , the 2014 release of what can only have been an _Ice Age_ spin-off gone horribly wrong. Derek demurred. Ultimately, they settled on  _Troy_ , which was fine. This is a classic situation of the Netflix era, in which viewers spend an inordinate amount of time trying to find something to watch, especially when compared to how long they spend watching it: the pair of them had spent ten minutes debating, but it took less than twice that for Scott to get Derek's pants off and be kneeling in front of him choking on dick. When Scott first started in, Derek moved to turn off the movie, but Scott stopped him, insisting that he keep watching. Derek did, on the condition that Scott strip. Scott happily complied; he stood up, peeled off his skin-tight tank top, and quickly removed his jeans. Derek stared. Scott was wearing a powder blue jock with black straps, and clearly tenting. He tentatively reached for the band, to remove it. "Don't." Derek growled it, his voice coming out deeper and more serious than he intended it. It didn't give the athlete any pause; Scott did as ordered and quickly got back down to business between Derek's legs.

Scott's dick-sucking had improved markedly since their last encounter. There was not a single tooth scrape this time. And Scott now arched his back and spread his legs enough so as to keep his ass in view, should Derek decide to look away from the television. Scott's performance could be explained only by either (1) him having an extraordinary amount of sex with other people, which was implausible given that Derek didn't smell anyone else on him in _that_ way, or (2) him doing a  _lot_ of research and practicing on a dildo. Between drinking wine and watching the movie, Derek  _almost_ didn't notice Scott's remarkable stamina. The boy had been serving that cock for over a half-hour and showed no signs of slowing down apart from moaning louder. Also remarkable is that Scott, despite being rock hard, had not touched himself once. His hands had remained mostly on Derek's cock, assisting his mouth, or on his thighs, propping himself up. As he continued, Scott did remove one of his hands from his thigh to play with his hole. Scott's moans increased in octave and pitch until he removed his hand from his ass, inserted it into his mouth alongside Derek's cock, slathered it in saliva and Derek's pre-cum, and returned it to where it had been, this time inserting it into himself. At first tentatively, Scott moved the finger in and out of himself, gaining in confidence and pleasure as his hole adjusted. Soon enough, Scott had worked two fingers in and was desperately thrusting them in and out of himself while fucking his mouth on Derek's shaft. 

By the time Scott started fingering himself, Derek had lost all interest in the movie. He left it playing to satisfy Scott's need to... feel useful? Or something. But he was closely following each new development below him. With each swallow, his desire to pin Scott to the floor and have his way with him grew, but he desired almost equally to see what the jock would do next. Finally, Derek couldn't take it anymore. Scott looked absolutely wrecked, lost to the world: fingers thrusting sloppily in and out of his hole, mouth and throat desperately trying to take in more of Derek's cock, voice making the most obscene and girlish moans. 

"Stop." Derek announced. Scott stopped immediately, but remained kneeling in front of Derek, looking up at him. Waiting for his next order. He didn't have to wait long. "Face down, ass up." Scott complied. He pushed the coffee table further out of the way and turned to his left, spreading his legs and arching his back.  _Truly_ , Derek thought to himself,  _he has done his research_. As Derek moved down toward Scott to enter him, he noticed that even the smattering of hair the boy had on his ass and upper legs was gone.  _Nice_. Under other circumstances, Derek would have taken his time, as he had before, first eating Scott's ass, making him beg for it. But Scott had driven him into a frenzy. All that mattered now was being inside of Scott,  _possessing_ Scott. There was no need to loosen the boy up, Scott had ensured that. And Scott's saliva would serve well enough as lube. It might hurt a bit, but stopping, getting up, and fetching lube was by now out of the question. Derek lined himself up and nudged against Scott's hole, prompting a loud moan and a near-incomprehensible, "yesssssssss." Needing no further encouragement, Derek entered Scott a little bit at a time. He managed to hold himself back  _just_ enough not to enter Scott all at once like his wolf urged him to. His tip now inside, he rocked back and forth, penetrating deeper each time, until he was fully inside of the younger boy. Scott was tighter than Derek remembered. He would be sure to change that in short order. 

Once fully inside of Scott, the last of Derek's restraint gave out. He pulled back until he was nearly outside of Scott entirely, then fully re-entered. Scott emitted a small moan of pleasure as the air was knocked out of him. And then again. And then again. Faster each time, until he was pounding away at the perfect, hairless jock underneath him. He was fucking with such force that Scott was not even able to keep his as "up", as he had been commanded. The boy was pinned entirely to the wooden floor of the apartment, utterly helpless and lost to the world in a haze of pleasure, sometimes kissing the man fucking him. Scott's yesses turned into barely comprehensible babbling sprinkled with recognizable phrases--"yes, yes, yessssss," followed by a moan and a sigh; "fuck me daddy," repeated over and over; "make me your bitch," featured prominently. Scott's wanton submissiveness tore away any vestige of restraint Derek had left in him. There was no more kissing. Derek wrapped a hand lightly around Scott's throat while kissing the part of the boy's neck that remained exposed. His grip and mouthing, and Scott's moaning, grew more intense in tandem, as Derek felt himself getting close. He picked up his pace even further, sucking hard on the part of Scott's neck he had been nibbling. Somehow Scott managed to string together the words, "yes daddy, cum in me, seed me, make me your bitch," which shot Derek far, far over the edge. He did what Scott asked; he let out rope after rope of cum into the jock's ass. 

Sated, and exhausted, Derek didn't move for some time.

 


End file.
